


Give a Wreath to the Broken Boy (in Memorium)

by herprettysleeper



Series: Holidays With You [3]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Bandom Bingo 2017, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Military Family, because i'm not pulling from canon at all, but anyway:, i'm considering their parents OCs, it's rated Teen because it deals with some Issues, more specifically - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 09:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11415021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herprettysleeper/pseuds/herprettysleeper
Summary: Patrick needs to do some things alone, and Brendon respects that.





	Give a Wreath to the Broken Boy (in Memorium)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slpblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slpblue/gifts).



> I’m gonna go ahead and dedicate this to slpblue, who is totally awesome and also asked if there was going to be more in this holiday verse (and here’s my answer). This is a short and sweet, and totally late Memorial Day fic, and also for a Bandom Bingo square: hurt/comfort.
> 
> ~~But for real, someone take these idiots out of my hands since I seem to consistently hurt them irreparably~~
> 
> Without further ado!

“Hey, Mom.”

“Patty, hey! How are you?”

Patrick smiles softly. He’s in his car, staring out at the road. His phone’s on speaker.

“I’m okay.”

“What are your plans today?”

“Visiting Dad,” Patrick says, almost like it’s insignificant. Like his insides aren’t twisting.

His mom says his name in a long breath. “ _Patrick._ ”

“It’s okay, Mom. I promise.”

He can almost hear her resigned expression, then he hears her sigh. “Is Brendon with you?”

Patrick’s mom likes Brendon, thinks it’s wonderful he’s got someone to love. He agrees.

“I didn’t tell him I was leaving. It’s—I didn’t tell him.”

“Okay,” she says, in a way that’s all understanding and makes his stomach churn, but he’s glad she doesn’t push further. “Call if you need to talk, alright?”

“I will.”

~*~

Brendon wakes up with the other side of the bed cold.

He reaches out, his hands brushing over cold, crumpled sheets, then calls out, sleep still thick in his voice, “Pat?” He’s about to call out again when he sees the note.

_Hey, Bren, I’m going to be out today. I’ll be back soon, by tonight or tomorrow morning. I love you._

_—Patrick_

Brendon frowns a little. It’s barely sunrise—Patrick _never_ wakes up this early. He glances at the phone to check the time and notices the date.

May thirty-first.

Memorial Day.

“God, ‘Trick,” he says, and gets out of bed.

~*~

“Hey, Dad,” Patrick says. “It’s been a while. Not bad, though.”

The air around him is cool, the sky blue. The grass he’s kneeling on is perfectly maintained, unnaturally green. Jarring.

“You know, Brendon says he wishes he could’ve met you.” He speaks clearly, despite the tears rolling down his cheeks. “You’d like him.”

The birds chirp overhead. The sun warms the air. Every few feet apart, there are people crying or talking too fast or looking stoically on.

“I miss you.”

The headstone stays in place. It reads the same way it always has, with his father’s name and station and familial ties. The label that defines what he was. It doesn’t show who he was at all.

Patrick remembers when he was fourteen and the news came. He’d heard a sudden scream and then sobbing coming from downstairs, gruff voices trying to offer condolences. He’d dropped to his knees, clutched the carpet like it was a lifeline, closed his eyes, and _known._

He’s all grown-up now.

He places his hand in front of the grave. “Um, I had a lot more in my head…but it feels irrelevant now. You wouldn’t want to hear it, I’m sorry. I’ll visit soon, sir.” He nods harshly, like it changes something, then, “Happy Memorial Day, Dad.”

Patrick gets to his feet and stares at his father’s grave for a long moment before taking a deep breath and walking away.

~*~

It’s dark when Patrick opens the door to the house, and the first thing he sees is Brendon sitting at the dining room table. He perks up when he sees Patrick.

“Hey, Pat. Are you good?”

“I’m alright.” His voice is quieter than normal, he knows. He feels heavy.

“You wanna go get something to eat?”

“No, thank you, I think I’ll just lay down.” Patrick hesitates for a second, then asks, “Will you come?”

Brendon smiles. “Yeah, of course.”

And he’s breathing too heavily and unevenly into Brendon’s chest, and Brendon murmurs softly, “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

The bed is cold, but Brendon is warm, and Patrick believes in that moment that maybe everything will be fine.


End file.
